David first introduced me to Jazz Alley in 2006 when we saw Steve Tyrell. The singer was back again last night, so we bought tickets in a hurry. It's a shame we forgot our camera, since we were both dressed up for once. This is a rare occurence these days, ever since David became unemployed. We had a reason to celebrate last night, though, because David has gotten a 6 to 8-week contract working for Boeing. In Everett. Yes, Everett. From Bainbridge Island. The commute is going to be horrendous, via car, ferry and train, but its okay for a short period of time.The sun was bright last night as we stepped into the dark abyss of Jazz Alley. It's hidden on a side street near 6th and Lenora, and stairs lead you down into a dark and romantic setting. People sit smiling and chatting around small round tables, or packed into booths. A balcony skims the ceiling. Every seat in the house has a great view of the stage, a very intimate setting for a terrific artist.
For the second time in as many weeks, I felt like I was back in the 1950's. Steve Tyrell is a crooner, with a deep, husky voice. He sang standards, hits from the 70's, and talked affectionally about his FRIEND Rod Stewart. We heard "The Way you Look Tonight," as we sipped a delicious bottle of red wine. I had penne with marinara and sausage, David had lamb curry. Dessert was flourless chocolate cake with berry dressing and vanilla ice cream. Heaven.Whenever I visit a place like this, I feel nostalgic, as though I remember and miss the 1940's and 1950's. My dream is to open a similar place, with dancing. Imagine a classy venue with a wooden dance floor, a curve of round tables, waiters in tuxedos,red wine and martinis. Even though nowhere like that exists in Seattle, I'm so glad Jazz Alley does.
He regaled us with a story about a woman in Greek mythology, who ate pomegranate seeds to keep herself young, or something like that. Every drink had a story. Not only was this man a libation artist, he was a storyteller with a beautiful accent. Long after I'd slurped this margarita down, I told him to make me something with bourbon, and he came up with a smoking ice castle. 
The food came next. The incredible, heart-breakingly beautiful food. Every bite was like heaven, the service impeccable. We started with a droplet of rubarb soup, then watermelon ceviche.
Waiters bustled around us like worker bees to their hive. Smiles, soft voices, quick hands that whisked away napkins and wiped the table down. At one point four waiters surrounded us as they regaled us with the ingredients to these masterpieces. First, yellowfish tuna with a gelatin sauce.
Then, salmon with fingerling potatoes.
Black cod wrapped in squash blossom.
Lamb loin with fried squash, and pepperoni.
The flavors blended so beautifully I thought I was in heaven. Even the owner himself, Mark Canlis, came over to introduce himself to my famous food writing friend. He has a lot to be proud of. Just when I thought the tasting menu was over, the waiters put another delectible treat in front of us. Sumac meringue crumbles and fresh strawberries topped with strawberry sorbet. This was the precurser to dessert.
THE PRECURSOR! It was a slice of heaven, tangy, yet sweet, smooth and soft, crumbly and moist. The best summer dessert. Then came the big cajones. It looked like a little purple bunny rabbit with wings, frolicking in the Garden of Eden.
In reality, it was sweet corn panacotta with blueberry sorbet, corn kernels and blueberry slices. (Thanks Julien, for writing all this down.)
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